A Very Short Thunderstorm

A thunderstorm ignites right as the taxi pulls up to the curb.

Most of the ride is in silence, the rain pattering the hood and rooftop of the cab. A streak of lightning flares the sky.

BOOM

The taxi stops and my dad asks the cabbie if he can break a 1000NT note.

We step out into the rain shielding our heads and run for the awning.

BOOM

 I get my ticket at the counter as my parents watch. The rain comes down in droves outside.

I have been waiting for this moment for a long time.

BOOM

As we walk up to the security check in, I turn and ask my mom for a hug.

“I’m not used to hugging people.”

“Well I am” I reply.

I hold her for a moment and tell her I love her.

“I know” she says.

I turn to my dad and he holds out his hand. I hold out my arms.

“I’m too old to hug.”

“I’m not” I reply and I tell him I love him too.

The rain begins to subside outside

I turn to leave and wipe away my tears before I turn back.

I’ve waited 31 years to say those words.

It’s never too late for anything.

A Wide Expanse of Water Separating My Heart in Two

Long flights across the ocean, 14 hours crammed into a seat not meant to fit my frame. 14 hours across the ocean, a 15 minutes’ bus ride, and an hour and a half train ride and I’m back to the home I grew up in. Where so much and so little has changed. The place you grow up defines so much of who you are and who you will become.

“You’ve gotten so fat! You must be eating a lot of hamburgers in America.”

People say that you can’t run away from your problems and I don’t disagree. A change of scenery, new friends, an adventure won’t stop your past from catching up. It’s still there, maligned, certain, and infallible. I feel like I’m back in high school, pining over the girl I love, hoping that she feels the same, but knowing that my love will never be reciprocated. Last I checked she is married with two kids and one on the way.  

“How are you and your girlfriend? Broke up? You should get married soon, settle down.”

When I was a child, I’d blast the AC all night and not bother to put on any covers. I got deathly sick. My mom brought me soup in bed and while I ran a horrible fever. I prayed that if I got better I would never be bad again. There was only the sickness and the pain, I promised I would listen to my parents and be a good boy if it went away. I break my promise to God for the next two decades.  

“Are you moving back? When are you taking over your father’s business?”

I feel trapped and liberated at the same time. There was never much parental supervision. I roamed the city streets wild and free, with no curfew and little restriction. I ate too much candy, watched too many violent movies, too little structure, too much time. Twice a year I’m back, summer vacation and winter break. A place I am very familiar with, but a stranger at the same time. Like most of my life, I have very little friends, but spend much of my time alone. I seem to be socially inept both on the Island and in the States.

“Do you speak mandarin? Wow, it’s not bad for an ABC (American Born Chinese).”

I am not Asian, I am not American, some sort of the alien to most people. A banana (yellow on the outside, white on the inside) to more cultural Asians. I stand on the outside looking in, wishing I could fit in somewhere, wishing I had chosen to fit in somewhere along the path. I often remind myself that this is the path I’ve chosen and that there is no turning back. There is nothing to turn back to.

“San Francisco? A lot of gays.”

I wish I could tell my parents that I love them. I know they know, but to voice it out loud would be strange. They would probably look at me as if I was going through some sort of emotional breakdown. I hugged them for the first time when I was in my early 20’s, a stiff awkward hug like the ones you give acquaintance’s or a stranger. I hang out at my mom’s country cottage with her friends as they make small talk and sip coffee. I hit the links with my dad with his friends, listening to them tell dirty jokes and reminisce about the past. It brings me peace to be in their presence. So much time to make up.

“Art? Painting? You can’t make very much money doing that can you?”

I meet a girl at a bar and she asks me what my favorite food is. We go out to dinner and she orders the most expensive thing on the menu. She doesn’t even bother to pretend to want to pay and I wonder if this is a cultural thing or if she’s just another girl looking for a free meal. She is pretty and she knows it, but has very little to fill in for conversation. Maybe it’s due to my own lack of linguistic depth. I delete her phone number. I fill my time with useless things, things to fill the void.

“I think it’s better if we don’t talk anymore. We’ll never get back together.”

I meet some friends at an after hour’s karaoke spot. It is past 4am and people are still drinking heavily, I want to leave but am afraid that I’ll just lay awake in my bed alone. I want to make a human connection, but my heart is not in it, turning the corners of my lips up when I am addressed. I find it easier to pretend than to open up to anyone. There are pretty faces everywhere, but not the one I am looking for. I tell myself “like everything else, this will all pass.”  

“How long are you visiting for? Are you ever going to move back?”

I walk through the metro, through throngs of bodies. People who look like me with the same blood running through their veins. I think about all the women I have loved and lost, wondering if it would have been better never to have met them because I am lonely. I look at all the faces as they walk by, people going about their lives. I stand in line next to a group of young French girls waiting for the train. The pretty brunette looks up and smiles at me and for a moment I feel slightly better.

“We want you to be happy. You just do what you have to do to make yourself happy.”

I am stuck in the middle. A wide expanse of water separating my heart into two. An hour and a half train ride, a 15 minutes’ bus ride, and a 14 hour flight across the ocean and I’m back. Right back to where I’ve left everything.

The Player that Never Was

I had started hearing about him before the season started. There was a buzz from the parents and current players that he had huge potential. “P_____ started playing club ball at 10 years old.” As a coach, I pretty much took any such information with a grain of salt. Parents have a tendency to over exaggerate things, even if it doesn’t have to deal with their own children. By this time in my career with Mills High School, I had already taken the team from the very bottom of the league into a few winning seasons. I was comfortable in my role and with my players, but figured any help I got was an added bonus.

P____ was tall for his age. Gangly with a clean shaven head and a lackadaisical gait.  I had been hearing all the hype surrounding him but knew he was yet untested and unproven. I was holding early summer tryouts and joked around with the returning boys about how they looked out of shape. The early season tryouts are usually the most grueling and it is easy to trim the fat and thin the herd within the first few sessions. I have always liked these first few weeks because it tests the character of the boys, especially with the kids on the bubble.

P____ stuck it out and made it through the first few weeks of conditioning without a hitch. While outside of the water he was shy and withdrawn, in the water he was a natural. His love for competition and physical exertion were apparent and he put it upon himself to outshine every member of the varsity team. While still a freshman, he was able to help take the team 9-5 on the strength of his shooting abilities which led us toward the top of the rankings in the Ocean Division. I would be remiss to say that I saw his addition to my team through purely selfish reasons. I knew that players like P____ didn’t come often, I had never coached a player at his skill level. He was a golden ticket for my coaching career and my team, like finding a four leaf clover.

I should have seen the warning signs earlier. P____ helped us win games which garnered him favor among the older kids. They started invited him to parties and once or twice I definitely knew that he was coming into Saturday morning practice hungover. I knew I should have said something then, but I didn’t think anything bad would come of it. I stuck to the adage that “boys will be boys”.

I told myself that the first time I had gotten drunk was when I was 14 as well. During my sophomore year of high school, I had gone over my friend J_____’s house while his parents were out of town and we split a fifth of vodka.  I told myself that it wasn’t my job to control any of the boy’s social lives as long as they didn’t come to practice stoned or drunk. I knew what it was like to be young once also and I didn’t want to be the one to come down hard on anyone. I kept this lie to myself even though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do because we were winning games and that was what mattered at the time.

During P_____’s sophomore year he got an early acceptance letter from UCLA. He already had scouts looking at him and I wanted to make sure that he kept up his production numbers and that I gave him the best shot possible to play college ball. He still had holes in his game which we were working on, but nevertheless he stood out among the pack. Other coaches and refs would often come up to me after games and laud over P_____’s ability and natural talent. “Boy’s got a cannon on him.” I would smile and nod and tell myself that I would take his athletic career as far as it would go. We finished P_____’s sophomore season 13-1 and tied for first place in the Ocean Division. With the finish we were able to move up into the Bay Division against top ranked teams such as Menlo and Menlo-Atherton, powerhouses which produced a litany of college bound athletes.

P_____’s accomplishments also translated towards my own coaching career. I cold emailed the Stanford Water Polo Club director after P_____’s first year and asked him for an interview. Mills has historically been the punching bag of the water polo world and based on the merits of my record in the last few years, I got hired straight away and started coaching some of the elite talent athletes in Northern California. In truth, I’ve always had my own insecurities about being a coach. Water polo is a white collar sport dominated by rich white men who often saw little in the way of an Asian coach. I had set out years ago against the stereotype of the weak Asian male and I had to fight and claw my way for everything I had earned and yet to prove.

 Since I never played college ball, I knew that what I lacked as a player would have to be learned through being around other top level coaches. It was a grueling winter with long commutes from SF to Silicon Valley every other day while attending graduate school, but it was a sacrifice which would translate into experience and knowledge for the future.

I coached through the winter session and the summer Junior Olympics of the 2014 year. I looked forward to the first Mills season in the Bay Division. As always, we started the year with early summer tryouts and workout sessions. The team looked solid and I told them that this year would be a huge test. During one of these early workouts I pulled P_____ aside for a chat about his career and his own future. His mom had recently told me that he had transferred from Mills to Middle College, which is a scholastic program which caters to High School students who want to finish their GED while in a collegiate setting. Despite not being a part of the Mills student body, P_____ was still able to practice and compete with the team.

“How are you feeling?”

“I am good coach, just trying to finish school and keep my grades up.”

“I heard that you left Mills.”

“Yeah, I started at Middle College. I didn’t want to deal with anymore of the bullshit here.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just…” he comtemplated his answer “I just wanted to get away from here. I don’t want to deal with any more of the drama.”

“Well, maybe getting out of here will be good for you. You still trying to play college ball?”

He hesitated. “I mean yeah, that’s still the plan.”

“We’ve got to work on your passing and defense. The teams in the Bay Division are going to start doubling up on you and you’ve got to spread the ball around.”

“I know coach.”

The energy and exuberance he had shown as a freshman was gone. He seemed to have aged 5 years in a summer. He was tired and grew deep furrows on his brow, he seemed a different kid, a different player. It felt like he was merely going through the motions in practice. We were able to win our first three games, but I knew something else was lurking deeper at P____. He often showed up late to practice, he sometimes didn’t show up at all. And then one day I received a text from him:

“Sorry coach, but I don’t think I’m going to do water polo anymore. My hearts not in it. Thank you for everything.”

I talked to his mom on the phone later that day after practice. She seemed distraught and was also caught off guard with P____’s decision. P_____’s parents were always very supportive of his athletic career. They showed up to games, helped him find club teams, encouraged his natural talent. She said that they had recently been having some family issues and that P____ was hanging out with the wrong crowd. I remember playing during my own high school career and my parent’s had never shown up to a single practice or competition. I told her not to worry and that I would talk to him and try to figure out what why he was quitting.

I called him a few days later and picked him up at his house. I asked him if he wanted to go for a ride, chat a bit.

“What’s wrong man?”

“I’m just sick of water polo Coach.”

“Well what do you want to do with your future?”

“Probably just graduate high school and wait tables for a few years. I hate living with my parents. I can’t stand being in the house with them anymore. I just want to get out. I think high school is bullshit.”

It was a case of a kid wanting to grow up too fast. Truth was, I knew exactly how he felt. I saw a lot of his anger and resentment in myself at that age. I knew the road that he was headed down: filled with self-medication, long lonely nights, broken relationships, wasted time. I spent close to a decade of my own life heading down the wrong path, filling my life with alcohol, drugs, and women to fill the void. Killing myself slowly because I couldn’t deal with my own emotional trauma and depression. I could never admit to myself or others the hurt I was feeling inside so I dulled the pain for a very long time.

“Well what do you figure you’re going to do after that? Just keep waiting tables? There has to be something else you want to do right? Don’t you have a dream?”

“Well, I kind of want to be a film director one day.”

“You don’t think you’ll have to go to school for that?”

“Yeah I suppose so.”

“You know you can go anywhere with water polo right?”

“I just don’t want to play ball anymore. I’m just not having fun.”

He fiddled with his hands.

“Have I ever let you down P_____?”

“No coach. You’ve always been straight forward with me.”

“Well you’re letting me down now P____. And there’s a whole team who’s got your back that you’re walking away from.”

He didn’t answer, just looked straight ahead out of the passenger seat.

“This is your ticket out of here P_____. You can do anything, anywhere. Water polo will get you there. I know you love playing in games. Forget your parents, forget the other kids at school. You can’t be shortsighted about this, all you have to do is finish out the second half of this season and next year and you’re out of here. I’ll help you get into a school and I guarantee things will get better.” I knew that I was lying because I couldn’t guarantee him anything.

He bit down on his lower lip and furrowed his brow.

“Can you do that for me P_____, just play out this season. You can move out of your parents and you don’t ever have to come back if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah I can do that” he answered hesitantly.

We drove around a bit longer and bullshitted about films and directors we liked. I dropped him back home and he promised that he would be back next week.

He came back to practice and I tried to ease him into the grind. He only made it through another week and a game and he quit again. I kept in contact with his parent’s and told them that I had tried as hard as possible and that there was nothing else I could do to help their kid. I told them that I would keep in contact with him and try to change his mind. I told them that as much as either they or I wanted him to stay, there was nothing we could do. I knew that he was getting into a bit of a drug habit and that they should curb it as much as possible, but I knew personally that the only change lay within P_____ himself.

The season continued that year and despite P_____’s absence the team was still able to secure 3^rd place in the Bay Division giving them an automatic berth into the CCS Division playoffs, a first in school history. After I told the team about the situation, they bit down hard on their mouthpieces and strung together an incredible run in the post season. Despite the loss of P_____ is solidified my own grit and belief in what I was doing.

Most players, myself included, would’ve given anything to have had P______’s circumstances. Most kids never have the chance to go any further in their career than high school athletics. I knew that I had a shot at saving P_____. That he didn’t need to head towards the direction I had, that he had everything at his feet, that he was so close to becoming everything that he wanted and needed to be. I blame myself quite a bit for how things went down. Like a Greek tragedy, it’s always easy to look back and think that situations and catastrophe could have been easily averted. Moments of misunderstanding or miscommunication would have changed the course of the outcome. I’d like to think that the whole situation didn’t bother me that much, but I lost quite a bit of sleep over the whole ordeal.

I want to believe that if another kid or situation were to come up again I would be able to make a difference.  I’d like to think that someday P_____ will be okay and realize his own mistakes and shortcomings. But I know that these things take time and a lot of self-realization because I’m still working through some of my own issues even to this day. I've learned that all the success and accolades in the world don't mean much when you've pushed all the people you love out of your life. I wish that I could’ve made a difference, but realize that everyone has to make their own choices and mistakes no matter how much help or guidance others give them.

I called P______ about a week ago and left him a message on his voicemail.

“He P______, it’s Daniel. I hope you’re doing okay, give me a call back when you get a chance.”

He never returned my call.